“Eldrin Frost, performing Beethoven’sSonata No. 8,Pathétique, movements one and two,” announced the teacher. Only Tina Rodriguez was older and more accomplished than Eldrin.
Before he sat down to play, Eldrin stood, head high, hands clasped behind his back, facing the audience. All fell into a hush. “Beethoven was a young man of twenty-seven in 1789 when he wrote this exceptionally passionate piece. His world was in upheaval, not unlike our own. While Austria was at peace, revolution consumed neighboring France. Violence ran rampant, and European economies fell into turmoil. On this continent, George Washington took office as the first U.S. President, beginning a 285-year experiment in government that did not endure. If the music resonates with you, it could be because the composer also lived in a frightening time.”
Taking the bench, Eldrin laid his fingers over the keys, striking the opening chord of theGrave. He continued in slow solemnity, then broke into theAllegro di molto e con brio. He only bobbled a few notes; nobody would notice. After a brief pause, his hands still on the keys, he switched to the second movement,Adagio Cantabile.Beautiful and warm, Eldrin brought the theme’s simplicity to a poignancy that defied description. Azaleen couldn’t have been prouder of her son.
As she dabbed a tear from her eye, her mother complained, “When is Thalen going to play? Don’t tell me they left him off the program.”
Azaleen’s heart, brimming with sensation, sank under the weight of reality. For Orielle, this had been a good day.
The next morning
“Reports.” Azaleen and her cabinet gathered in the war room early to tackle any new developments. Another day without rain. Typical for the season, even preferable during harvest. The cotton required a few more weeks to make picking easier on dry stalks. The map table at their center bore new markers charting the invaders’ advance.
“Let’s start with the good news,” General Stark declared, holding up a creased paper. “From Fleetmaster Dawnriver—our allies have retaken Fort Hammond! We control the Mother River once more.”
Sighs of relief rippled around the table, grins breaking through the strain. “Thank the Mother, we needed good news,” said Rosalind Keane. She fingered the colorful beads that draped her chest, her intelligent eyes aglow.
Silas Beaudean shifted his feet and dragged a hand across his mouth, less celebratory than the rest. “Good news indeed, but will the Iron Army leave any cotton to send downriver?”
“Good heavens, Silas!” exclaimed Camille. “Take the win. Even if all the delta cotton is lost, plantations are scattered across the country. Garcia can’t burn them all.”
“Marchland stands a better chance of victory with AlgonCree ships in the river than facing bombardment from their back,” Desmond Shaw pointed out. He took a sip from the coffee mug he’d brought.
“I suppose,” Beaudean grumbled, his bushy brows narrowed. “I’ve received an emergency missive from Augustus Fairborne, a prominent cotton baron north of Marchland, reporting General Garcia torched his six hundred acres and his barns. He barely escaped with his life.”
Azaleen sat forward. She’d already heard about Ft. Hammond, but not their primary base. “What else do we hear from Marchland? Reuben, any word from General Longstreet?”
“A pigeon arrived this morning,” he said, pulling a tube from his pocket. “The aviary keeper just handed it to me on my way in.” He popped off the top and unrolled the scrap of paper with thick fingers, spreading it across a broad hand.
Azaleen waited, poised and coiled beneath calm.Marchland must still stand.
Stark read from the scroll. “Enemy assault from the north failed. Sustained minor damage and losses. Scored six thousand kills. Expect renewed assault within forty-eight hours. —Longstreet.”
“That’s good, right?” asked Vera Sutherland. She squeezed the ledger between white-knuckled fingers.
“Good for us that idiot Irons executed a brilliant general and put another idiot in his place,” Shaw remarked. He sat back, propped a boot over one knee. “I ran some privately commissioned recovery operations in that area about ten years ago. If Garcia marched due south from Tupelo to attack Marchland, his troops got stuck in a bog at the bottom of those bluffs. I remember it. Clouds of mosquitoes thick enough to choke a man. Moccasins, gators, and rattlers, too.” His lips curved in a satisfied smile.
“The treasure hunter is correct,” Stark confirmed. “But the Iron Army still greatly outnumbers Marchland’s fighting men. My greatest concern is the civilians. Based on the reports we’ve received, it’s clear he’s engaged in total war. Queen Frost, I’d like to surprise him—take Nelanta’s Army Reserve and attack his rear.”
“A bold move,” Azaleen said, giving his proposal consideration. “However, if we lose those five thousand troops, there’ll be no one but farmers, mill workers, and shopkeepers to defend the capital. And there’s still the other half of the invasion force.”
She met Reuben’s gaze with sharp steel. “I received a letter this morning from Lord Thorne Calder, who extends his deepest gratitude for the recovery of his son. He also reported that a force of thirty thousand has almost reached his door.We no longer have one massive invasion force to contend with, but two. I’m not convinced Stonevale can hold.”
“Then do you prefer I take the reserves and make haste to Stonevale?” Stark asked, a flicker of doubt in his deep-set eyes.
“Doesn’t the Iron Army still have troops on the ground in the south?” asked Beaudean. “They could wreak havoc with our food supplies, not to mention what they could be doing to our citizens.”
“I ordered Colonel Ashby to send as large a force as he could spare from New Charleston to recapture Fort Jasper,” Azaleen said.
“That’s right,” Stark confirmed. “His units are forming a coordinated approach overland and by sea. They’re due to arrive tomorrow. Madam Queen? Stonevale?”
Tension cinched tight at her throat, her gut twisting. If they lost Stonevale, there was nothing to stop the Iron Army from descending on the capital from the north. If they lost Marchland, General Garcia would race to Nelanta to seize her and the country. If neither fortress prevailed, they were doomed.
Shaw spoke up in an authoritative voice. “If that half-wit Garcia could manage to capture Marchland, even with superior numbers, it’ll take him months. He doesn’t know what the hell he’s doin’ and I’ll bet you General Longstreet and Lady Cassandra Cade do. Stonevale is the more pressing matter.”
“Camille,” Azaleen said, shifting to face the ambassador. “Did you ever get a response from the Oligarchy in Clover Hollow?”
She lowered her chin, shook her head. “I haven’t received correspondence from them in years. I know the messages arrive because the pigeons come back. They don’t care about what happens to us.”